Nightmares
by iluvcm
Summary: A series of short ficlets about Dean and Sam waking each other up in the middle of the night because of their nightmares. The series starts when they are 5 and 9, and each chapter is set five years later from the previous one. (Inspired by this GIF: dia./a8b556bf77db921bdf0aa17cdc3c2e74/tumblr mo5w0diZfX1rdsneto1 500.gif)
1. Want to talk about it?

**Sam is 5, Dean is 9**

Something tickled Dean's forearm and he twitched to get rid of it, sleep clouding his thoughts. His eyes were heavy with a dreamless slumber and it was too warm, too comfortable, too perfect to wake up. He felt something brush against his arm once more, and, eyes still firmly shut, he used his other hand to brush off whatever it was. His fingers, expecting to find a fly or the corner of a blanket, touched another hand. It was small and cold. Dean's eyes flew open.

"Sammy?"

Sam was standing by his brother's bed in his blue stripy pajamas. His curly hair stuck to his chubby face and stuck out at odd angles at the back. His feet were bare and he was shivering.

"Sammy what's wrong?"

His brother stood there silently, his small frame trembling. Without a word, Dean pulled back the covers and patted the space next to him. Sam climbed in, huddling next to Dean's warm body. The boy was freezing. He must have been trying to wake Dean for ages. Dean cursed himself for not waking up sooner as he wrapped his arms around his little brother. Sam relaxed at his touch and snuggled into his brother's embrace, resting his head on Dean's shoulder and breathing deeply into the crook of his neck.

"It's okay Sammy." Dean whispered, feeling himself slipping back into sleep.

"Want to talk about it?" He said, his voice getting quieter with every word. Sam felt heavy in his arms.

"Sam?" The name was almost inaudible, whispered into Sam's thick hair. There was no reply. Sammy was already asleep.


	2. Want me to stay here?

**Sam is 10, Dean is 14**

Sam woke, panting and sweaty. The scratchy woollen blankets were on the floor and his legs were wrapped tightly in the sheet. Everything was dark apart from a small orange pulsing light on the ceiling. The absence of snoring told him that his dad hadn't returned from his hunt, which made Sam even more scared. He shifted in his bed so he was no longer looking into the black abyss of the ceiling, but at Dean. As his eyes slowly adjusted, Sam could make out his brother's sleeping form on the bed next to him. His arm was outstretched. Sam reached towards it, but stopped. Dean had been grumpy all day. He wouldn't want to be woken. Quietly, Sam untangled himself from the bedclothes and reached down to pick up the blankets on the floor.

"Sammy?"  
Sam jumped and hit his chin on the bed knob. Eyes smarting, he looked up and saw Dean's silhouette against the orange glow from the ceiling.

"Sammy's what's wrong?"

Sam didn't reply, clutching the blankets he'd picked up to his chest. There was some scuffling, then the mattress next to Sam sank a little and he felt an arm snake around his shoulder.

"Nightmare?" his brother asked, his voice husky from sleep.

"No…just - um - going to the bathroom."

"C'mon Sammy don't lie to me."

Sam gave the tiniest laugh, feeling a lot safer with Dean's strong arms around his shoulders.

Dean's voice broke the silence. "Want me to stay here?"

Sam nodded and lay back down whilst his brother pried the itchy blankets from his arms, then untwisted the sheet to lay it over him. Then he climbed into bed beside his little brother and held him tight as he fell back to sleep.


	3. Want to go back to sleep?

**Sam is 15, Dean is 19**

"It's just for one night," their father had snapped, his voiced raised as he stood facing his two sons in the motel room. "It wouldn't have cost that much!"

"It's not like you'd be needing a bed dad! You'll be in the bar all night, you always are!" Sam had retorted, fists clenched.

At that, their father had walked out of the room, leaving the younger Winchesters alone in the almost suffocating silence.

They had been arguing about money, as it was much cheaper to get a small room with one bed than a bigger one with three. Sam, ever conscious of how much they stole, scammed, and lied their way through life, was trying to save the little money they had. John on the other hand, saw no harm in credit card fraud as long as they weren't caught. Dean was caught in the middle, ever loyal to his father, but he could see Sam's point. So when Sam had asked for the cheapest room, the girl at the reception desk had given them a tiny space tucked into the corner of the motel block, with one small double bed.

"You don't mind sharing do you?" Sam asked his brother, an apologetic look in his soft eyes.

"Course not Sammy." It wasn't the first time they'd shared a bed anyhow.

A sharp pain in the jaw woke Dean, and he tasted blood. Alarmed, he fumbled for the light, blinking away the sleep when the yellow glow filled the room. Sam was twisted in their shared duvet, moaning and thrashing about on the bed. Dean swallowed the coppery tang in his mouth and reached out to grab Sam's flailing arms.

"Sam! SAM! Wake up!" He shouted, his voice rough from sleep. He caught sight of his brother's bruised and bloody knuckles that he'd probably sustained from punching the wall in his sleep. "Sammy!"

There was a flicker of recognition under Sam's eyelids and he slowly stopped kicking and writhing. "Sam buddy," Dean said, a little quieter this time. His brother muttered incoherently in reply, but then gradually opened his eyes.

"Sammy you okay?"

Again, the reply was incomprehensible, his voice thick and low. When finally he could speak, all he said was "Dean." It was barely a whisper, and his voice trembled with the aftermath of the nightmare. Dean shifted closer to his brother on the bed and pulled him into a hug. Sam may be fifteen, but he still needed his big brother.

"Did I hit you?" he asked when he'd stopped shaking.

Dean chuckled, "Yeah."

"Sorry."

"It's 'k sasquatch. Want to go back to sleep?"

"Yeah," Sam replied, settling back down and untangling the bedclothes.

Dean moved a little closer to his brother, feeling Sam's breath tickle his face and letting it lull him back to sleep.


	4. Want you to be here

**Sam is 20, Dean is 24**

Sam woke abruptly, as one does from a nightmare. He rolled over and reached for Dean's arm, which he always left outstretched towards his younger brother so he could wake him if necessary. It was something they'd done when they were kids, and the tradition had continued, as had the nightmares. It was true that they were both in their twenties, (well Sam as of last week) but they still needed that warm smile and pat on the shoulder that gave so much comfort in the middle of the night.

He couldn't find his brother's hand in the darkness. He groped around in the darkness, still trying to find the thing that would bring him most comfort right now.

Then it hit him. He realised why the dark shadows of the room were so familiar. He hadn't woken up in some grotty roadside motel, dehydrated and unshaven with the nightmares of a recent hunt. No, he'd woken up in his apartment in Palo Alto.

He lay back down heavily on his pillow and stared at the ceiling, breathing heavily for a while. _Don't think of Dean. _Sam told himself. _Don't think of Dean. _Then, _Dammit Sam don't you dare cry, you're twenty years old! This is fucking ridiculous Sam, pull yourself together! …Think of Jessica…_

…Jessica, this perfect, bubbly, beautiful girl that his friend Brady had introduced him to. They were going on a date next Saturday. _Think of Jessica, Sam. Don't think of Dean. Don't think of the-_

And suddenly, Sam had forgotten what had scared him so much. It had been some monster, probably. It always was. But still, Sam longed for his brother to make the last traces of the nightmare disappear completely. Dean could always make it better. "Want me to stay here?" He'd ask. "Want a hug? Want me to get you something?"

Want you to be here Dean.


	5. Want anything?

**Sam is 24, Dean is 29 (set at the start of season 4)**

It was always Sam who had the nightmares. Well, Dean had them too, but he was a lot better at hiding them than his younger brother. Maybe it was because their father had allowed Sam to be scared, but Dean had to be the fearless little soldier who protected Sammy. Dean wasn't allowed to have nightmares under John's watch. But now John was dead. And two years later, Sam still had nightmares about his abusive father. Out of all the monsters they saw, his father was the one that scared him the most.

However, during the past four months, it wasn't a demon, or his father that had infected his dreams and poisoned his sleep, it had been Dean. He relived it over and over and over again: the claws, the blood, the bright white light… and then his brother's blank glassy eyes staring back at him as he buckled and fell to the floor and wept.

Sam woke with a hiccough and a little whimper. He had learnt not to feel around blindly for Dean's hand to bring him some comfort because every time he did so, he would break down, the sleep and the inevitable hangover making him more emotional than usual.

But this time was different. In his sluggish state, he slowly realised that it wasn't his own muttering and moaning that had woken him up… it was Dean's. Dean was back from hell. Sam suddenly remembered. His eyes softened and he bit his lip, staring at his tough, I-don't-give-a-crap older brother trashing around on the bed. He slipped out from under the duvet and padded over to the bed where he laid a hand on Dean's shoulder and shook it gently, trying not to touch the angry red handprint there just in case it hurt him.

"Dean! Dean wake up!" Sam tried to say it loudly, but his voice caught in his throat at the sight of his brother in so much pain. Or maybe it was just the sleep and the dehydration. Dean turned over and mumbled unintelligibly. Sam leant over and grabbed his brother's trashing arms and held him still until he stopped shaking. "Dean?" He said, louder this time.

"Mmmm?" Dean burbled, not opening his eyes.

"Nightmare Dean," Sam explained softly. "You alright?"

Getting no reply, he asked, "Want anything?"

Dean made a noise that Sam understood as a no.

"Just making sure you're okay," he said, walking back to bed, his bare feet cold against the thin carpeted floor. Dean shifted so he was lying on his side, facing away from his brother. Sam knew that trick: the quivering shoulders; hiding the face; the wobbly voice that said, "Yeah I'm fine, just go back to sleep," when it really meant, 'thank you'. That was his trick - turning away so Dean couldn't see him tremble and cry with the aftershock of the nightmare. It was his trick and they both knew it.


End file.
